


this body is yours and mine

by quinnking



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Episode: s07e17 All Things, season 7: my way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:33:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22806382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quinnking/pseuds/quinnking
Summary: They don’t talk about it. He wants to, desperately, but it’s not what they do. It’s business as usual.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 15
Kudos: 169





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yes, i'm going through something. no, i will not take criticism. this is unbeta'd. this is acting like everything after all things never happened. not canon compliant. well, i mean, i pick and chose some specific things to keep but it mostly deviates. 
> 
> title is a lyric from mess is mine by vance joy. a very mulder/scully song.

They sort of just fell together. 

One moment he’s alone in his bed after leaving Scully in his living room, the next she’s _in_ his bed with him, naked. Over him, blissed out, nails on his chest. 

When he wakes up in the morning, she’s gone. He’d thought it was a dream, at first. But his sheets smelled like her, that Scully scent he’s come to know and love. The marks on his chest sting when he gets into the shower, and he amps up the temperature to mildly scalding. 

He loves how it feels when they start to itch after he dries himself off, with the towel that also smells like her. 

They don’t talk about it. He wants to, so desperately it hurts, but it’s not what they do. It’s business as usual. 

“Morning, Scully,” he says, tapping a pencil against his chin. 

She gives him her _Sleepy_ _Morning Scully_ smile. “Hey, Mulder,” she replies back and then makes herself busy with their tasks for the day. 

He studies her, hard. So hard, he’s sure, that she can feel it. He studies her. The way her body moves and the way she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, the way she licks her lips as she goes through the notes of their newest case, the way sh–

Oh, shit. She’s talking to him now. 

“–should leave by ten at the latest,” she finishes. 

Mulder just smiles, tight lipped, and bobs his head. He doesn’t say anything, just kind of looks at her expectantly until she huffs. 

“I _said_ ,” she emphasizes, “we have a case in Baltimore.” She tosses him the file. “They say they can see apparitions in an Inn.” 

“Admiral Fell Inn,” he reads aloud, as if Scully hadn’t already read it herself. “Not that far away. We won’t even need to stay overnight.” 

She nods, noncommittal. “I’ll drive, then.”

 _Great,_ he thinks. _Let’s hope we won’t get a ticket._

* * *

They don’t. Luckily. If only because Mulder saw the cop himself and warned her to slow down. Mostly for his own good, since it’s _his_ car. They made it in record time, too. Just before 11:30 a.m. 

“This place looks nice,” Mulder intones. “We should spend the night here and see what happens.” He’s only half joking. He totally would if she would. 

The look she gives him throws that whole idea away, but he smiles sheepishly to let her know he’s only (mostly) joking. She gives him a small smile back and then walks ahead of him. 

Turns out, the teenagers who thought they saw apparitions were just high. There is a haunted history here, though, Mulder knows. But he also knows that these teenagers haven’t seen anything of the sort.

Scully looks pissed to have been brought out here for no reason, so Mulder just nudges his shoulder into hers. “Let’s go get lunch. On the Bureau’s dime.”

Her lips tug up at that and he swells with pride. He cups her elbow gently with his hand and steers her toward the car. She beats him to the driver's seat, though. 

The diner is small and cramped and perfect. They touch knees in the little booth at the back and she steals fries off his plate. It’s comfortable. So comfortable, and she gives him a look of contentment when she bites into her burger. 

“I’ll have to go for a run for the next week but–” She finishes off the burger, licking a drop of mustard from her thumb. “–this was good.” 

She picks up another fry. He bites down on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from making a lewd comment. Something stupid and benign like, _I know another way you can exercise._ He’s stupid, not suicidal. 

He’s just looking at her, now. Openly. Her knee rubs his and he startles. She bites on her straw and looks at him through her lashes. Okay, then.

“Come with me for a run tomorrow morning,” his mouth says, but his brain hasn’t caught up yet. 

“Is that your way of flirting, Agent Mulder?” she asks, letting go of the straw and tilting her head. 

A dozen different responses come into his head. Instead, he just picks up another fry and bites into it, giving her a _look_. 

She rolls her eyes. “I think I can run on my own, thanks.” She pushes the plate back and stands up. “You ready to get going? I want to beat traffic.” 

“Yeah, but I’m driving. We just ate.” 

She gives him a look of confusion for a moment before it morphs into a scoff. He holds out his hands for the keys and she drops them into his palm. 

“Wuss,” she mutters. 

“What was that?” 

She just smiles charmingly at him before leading them out to the car. 

They drive in companionable silence. The radio is just a buzz, the windows are cracked down, and her head is resting against the window. It’s nice. 

He drops her off first and he realizes she’s dozed off. Very gently, he prods her shoulder. She looks so serene, though, that he loathes to wake her.

She jolts. 

“Sorry, Scully,” Mulder says, giving her his best puppy dog look. “Home sweet home.” 

She gives him a grin that makes his stomach flip and leans over the console to kiss the edge of his mouth.

“Mmm, see you tomorrow, Mulder,” she rasps before grabbing her purse and getting out of his car, closing the door gently and giving him a look.

His heartbeat decides to strum a different tune than usual so he takes a moment before starting up the car again and driving himself home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s Friday night. Nowhere to be tomorrow…” he pauses and she doesn’t say anything, just continues looking at him. “And it’s late. I’d feel much better if you stayed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fyi: this fanfic is pre-written, it's not a wip. i already have it finished, and it'll be posted over a couple of days. please comment, though. or come talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/reginasking) or [tumblr](https://toni-collette.tumblr.com/). or, you know, both. or all. idk. 
> 
> hope you enjoy. <3 i love my uncommunicative parents

It’s Friday. They’re on his couch, beers in hand, feet propped up on the table. Mulder tries not to notice how close Scully’s sitting next to him, their thighs pressed together. He can smell her perfume. 

They’re watching a shitty movie that’s on late night cable and his eyes start to droop. Lower, lower, there–until he feels a warm hand on his knee and his eyes fly back open.

He looks down to watch Scully’s small hand resting on his knee and then turns to look at her. She’s looking at the television, not even at him, and he takes a moment to study her profile. Most of her makeup is completely gone and in the dim light from the television he can see her freckles. He memorizes the slope of her nose, the curve of her lips, the harshness of her jaw. Until she turns to look at him, one brow raised.

He smiles guiltily, caught, and is about to stammer out an apology when her hand sneaks up his leg and rests mid-thigh, her fingers playing in the seam of his pants. If this is _Flirty Scully,_ he could get used to it. But he’s not making the first move. He’s almost too afraid to even move physically, not wanting to break this spell.

She grabs the beer bottle being cradled in his hand and puts it with hers on the table. Before he even knows what’s happening, she throws a leg over his lap and she’s straddling him. 

His brain isn’t working right now. He just looks up at her, notices that the light from the tv is creating a neon blue halo around her red hair, and he’s enamored. He feels her fingers on his neck and he’s frozen.

Scully takes his silence and lack of movement as hesitance. “Is this okay?” 

Is– 

Mulder is spurred into action, not wanting her to second guess herself. He shifts back and puts his hands on her waist. She gives him a smile, wetting her lips and leaning in. She tastes like beer and mediocre Thai food, but he doesn’t care when her silky tongue runs along his bottom lip. 

With a groan, he opens his mouth to deepen the kiss, her fingers going into his hair and clenching. He doesn’t take her shirt off but he needs to touch skin, so he sneaks his fingers underneath the hem of her blue sweater and presses down on the skin of her hips. She hisses, her hips pushing down against his and making him hot all over. 

Her hands leave his hair in favour of moving down to his belt buckle. He’s almost impressed at the proficiency in which she gets his belt unbuckled and his pants undone, but then she wraps her fingers around him and he can’t really think much more. 

She coaxes him to full hardness, easily, and he so badly wants to touch her all over. _Taste_ her. He hasn’t gotten a chance to do that yet, and it’s the one thing he so desperately wants to do. But not today. Maybe tomorrow morning. Maybe later tonight. Maybe– 

Scully is off of him and he almost whimpers (an honest to God whimper), but he bites down on it when he sees that she’s shucking her pants off. She tosses them aside and then gets back into his lap, panties still on. He doesn’t get a good look, but he thinks that they’re black. And lace. 

He doesn’t really get a chance to ponder that, or to even wonder if she wore them for him, for this, because she takes his right hand and pushes it down. He gets the hint, his fingers finding their way into her underwear. And, holy shit, she’s so _wet_. 

He feels around a bit, something he didn’t have the luxury of doing during their first time. Something he doesn’t even have the luxury of doing much of now, it seems. She takes his hand out from her underwear and brings it up to her mouth and, oh God. She sucks his two fingers into her mouth, tasting herself on them, eyebrows raised. 

Mulder’s a little slack jawed, a lot light headed and very turned on, and before he can do anything, she pushes her underwear to the side and sinks down on him in one smooth slide. Between the hot wetness of her mouth and of being inside her, he’s pretty much turned to mush. 

She has mercy on him, though, bringing his hand back down to where they’re joined so he can rub at her clit. She’s quiet, which he assumed she would be, but when he swipes a finger across her clit the same time he bucks up into her, she makes a mewling noise and lets her forehead rest against his. 

Unlike the first night, this isn’t rushed. She moves languidly, tortuously, her breath hot and sweet over his face. He leans up, nose bumping hers until their lips touch. It’s slow at first but then he nips at her lower lip and she presses her hips into his hard in retaliation, and then she’s moving against him senselessly. 

She’s so close, he can feel it, so he pinches her clit gently between two of his fingers and she tightens and spasms around him, voicing a quiet, “ _Oh, God, yes,_ ” and setting his world on fire. 

All that can be heard is the soft murmur of the television and their quick breathing. She doesn’t get up from his lap just yet and his fingers are trailing on the soft, milky skin of her thighs. She trembles every time his fingers near the apex, almost like she’s shivering but she’s so, so warm. 

Once they’ve both regained the ability to move properly, she gets up off of him and heads toward the bathroom. He looks down at himself. His shirt is half up his stomach, his pants are undone but barely pushed down past his ass. Her pants are on the floor. 

She comes back about three minutes later, but without her underwear. She smirks at him. “Perils of war,” she says sassily, and picks up her jeans. To undoubtedly put back on. Without underwear. 

His body is really fighting his refractory period. 

He finds the remote, almost blindly because he doesn’t want to look away from her even for a second, and turns off the television. It’s almost midnight anyway. 

“Stay the night,” he murmurs. 

She looks up at him, alarmed for a moment. _It can’t be that outrageous of a request, can it?_

“It’s Friday night. Nowhere to be tomorrow…” he pauses and she doesn’t say anything, just continues looking at him. “And it’s late. I’d feel much better if you stayed.” 

She still has the jeans in her hand, not having put them on yet. She folds them and puts them on the couch, neatly. “Do you have an extra pair of boxers I can borrow?” she asks. “I hate sleeping without anything on.” 

Mulder stores this in the _Intimate Facts About Scully_ cabinet in his head. He grabs her by the hand, tugging her toward the bedroom. He doesn’t even give the pretense that he’d sleep on the couch, but if she told him to, he would no questions asked. 

He finds her a pair of boxers, a newer pair he himself hasn’t even worn yet, and a worn Zeppelin t-shirt. She pulls on the boxers, so fucking slow and with a smirk, before divesting herself of her sweater and bra, and then her socks. She folds everything neatly and puts it on his nightstand before getting into bed. His bed. Scully is in his bed. He’s so happy he listened to the voice in his head that told him to clean his sheets before tonight. 

He goes to use the bathroom and washes his hands quickly, hoping to catch her before she calls asleep–or worse, sneaks out. He mentally kicks himself for that one. _Give her a little credit._

She’s still there, a small tilt of her lips as he tosses off his shirt and gets down to his own boxers to sleep. He turns off the light and walks very carefully as to not ruin the mood by stubbing his toe, or something equally as embarrassing and Mulder-like.

He’s not quite sure of the etiquette here. Last time she’d allowed him to spoon her, but this is different. This is post-afterglow. 

He’s lying on his back, listening to her rustling around until he feels her fingers curling around his forearm. He allows himself to be maneuvered until she’s resting her cheek against his chest and their legs are entwined. 

He presses his nose into the crown of her hair, inhales. If she notices, she doesn’t say anything and he can hear her breathing even out. 

Letting out the breath he didn’t know he was holding when he’d gotten into bed, he allows himself to relax and fall asleep. 

* * *

Sun streams through his window when he wakes up. He takes a long moment to stretch, languidly, enjoying the stretch and pull of his muscles. 

He’s alone in the bed, to which he’s not surprised. Disappointed, maybe. Definitely. But he won’t admit this out loud. 

His hand drifts to her side of the bed and he finds it warm, which–good. That means she hadn’t left so long ago that the sheets had cooled.

Mulder can’t help himself, though. His mind drifts as he pictures her getting up at the crack of dawn, slipping out from beneath the sheets, beneath his arm, to slink off and get dressed. Did she kiss his cheek before she left? Did she kiss his forehead? He shakes his head. That’s not a good train of thought.

He remembers last night, vividly. Fondly. He should take a shower, he thinks, solve the problem he was hoping to get rid of with morning sex. Hoping to rouse her by slipping underneath the sheets and using his mouth on her.

He decides, no. A shower isn’t going to cut it. Instead, he throws his legs over the side of his bed and goes to find his running gear. A nice long run should do the trick. 

The cool wind in his lungs make the burn satisfying, as he runs and runs, pushes and pushes, until he’s doubled over and coughing. His hair is sweat-matted to his forehead and his shirt sticks to his chest, itching. 

He’s close to his building so he walks back, enjoying the way his sweat starts to cool and then burn in the rising morning sun. 

When he gets back to his apartment he goes straight to the fridge, gulping down water straight from the massive jug. 

His mind is doing a mental eenie-meenie-miney-mo. _Should I call her? Should I not call her? Should I call her? Should I no_ –

His phone is ringing. He slams his fridge shut, harder than necessary, and goes to answer his phone.

“Mulder,” he says, voice raspy. 

A pause. “Mulder, it’s me,” says the soft voice on the other end. “Did I wake you?” 

“No, you didn’t,” he says, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “I went for a run. It was a good one. I just got back.” It’s not a lie. 

“Right,” she mutters, as if she doesn’t believe him but also doesn’t comment on it. There’s silence for a few moments and Mulder squeezes his eyes shut. “I, uh, I think I forgot my cellphone on your table.”

He turns to look, and, yup. There it is. Sitting there. The hopeful part of his brain goes into _she forgot it as a reason to see me_ territory, but the other side argues back, _she didn’t have to leave before you woke up if she wanted to see you._

With a sigh, Mulder asks, “do you want to come get it, or do you want me to bring it?” 

There’s a rustling. Another voice on the other end. “Hold on.” More rustling. “Would you be able to bring it to me?”

He clenches and then unclenches his jaw. “Yeah. I can bring it over. I just need to shower first.” 

“Okay, thank you. I’m making sandwiches. If you want one. When you come by to bring my phone over.” 

He almost smiles. Almost. He bites it back. “What kind?” 

“Turkey,” she says, proudly. Her voice is soft. “Come whenever. Bye, Mulder.” 

Dial tone. He stands there for a moment before making his way to the shower. Hearing her voice didn’t really help matters, so he cranks it to the coldest degree. 

* * *

He knocks on her door. Three times, until she answers. She’s wearing a red fleece sweater and a pair of jeans and man, he loves this Scully. The _Dressed Down Scully,_ that likes to wear soft sweaters and worn jeans and shitty t-shirts she likely bought in college. 

She gives him a closed mouth smile, but it lights up her face, blue eyes sparkling. “Hi, Mulder.” Her voice is gentle and quiet and he peers around her and – oh. 

Her mother is there. It’s not Sunday. Sunday is usually when her mother comes over for Church. When Scully can actually go, that is. 

“Hello, Fox.” 

“Hi, Mrs. Scully,” he says over Scully’s head. She fixes him with a look and he chuckles. “Sorry. Maggie.” He always forgets. It’s a song and dance he really doesn’t mind repeating. 

_So this is why she left so early this morning,_ he thinks, hopes, and feels absurd over how he felt about it. They weren’t… they aren’t _together._ She doesn’t owe him an explanation just because they’re sleeping together. Slept together. Twice. Who even knows if it’ll happen again. Even thinking this, Mulder’s mouth sours. 

“Sandwiches,” he blurts out, trying to stop his train of thought. Scully smiles at him quizzically and moves aside to allow him in.

There’s a plate with a couple half sandwiches and Mulder eats one before he says something he regrets and that’ll get him the _Scully Look of Shame._

As he chews, he sees Maggie give Scully a look. He knows it well – she’s questioning something but not voicing it and Mulder looks over at Scully to see that her face is stoic and not giving anything away. After a moment, Maggie looks away from her and to him. 

They make small talk for the better part of an hour before Maggie is pulling on her jacket and making up excuses for why she needs to go. 

“It’s a beautiful day, Dana,” she says. “Why waste it indoors?” She smiles mysteriously at him for a moment before ducking out the door and leaving them in Scully’s apartment. 

He goes into his pocket and pulls out her phone, completely forgotten. “Here,” he mumbles. 

She gives him a look and comes to retrieve it from him. They’re so close he can smell her perfume, feel the heat coming off her body. Her face isn’t completely without makeup but it’s only mascara, he thinks, and the pieces of hair closest to her face have a little wave to it. She’s all freckles and red hair and blue eyes and–

“Thank you.” 

He doesn’t have time to react as her hands slide up and around the back of his neck and into his hair, bringing his mouth down for a kiss. Not the cute little side-mouth kiss she did after the first time they slept together, but a full on kiss that has his heart thumping in his chest so loud that he’s sure she must hear it.

“If that’s what I get every time I do something nice for you,” he starts but is cut off by her laughter. Her arms twine around his shoulder, the bulk of her phone pressing into the top of his spine. He doesn’t care. 

He wants to say, _I wish you woke me up before you left this morning,_ or, _you could have left a note so I didn’t wake up alone again,_ or, _please, don’t leave._ But he doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he brings his mouth back down to hers and kisses the words out of his mind. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a knock on the door. There’s a fucking knock on the door. With a groan he sinks down further on top of her for a second and she giggles in his ear, and that–that is a wondrous noise. Maybe the blue balls are worth it just for that alone. She wiggles. Okay, maybe not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, me again. hope you're liking this mess so far. thanks for all the positive feedback i've gotten thus far, it means a lot and i hope it continues! although, there is a bit of frustration and angst coming after this particular part. this is the fluff and happy before the storm. so, enjoy! 
> 
> come talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/reginasking) and [tumblr](https://toni-collette.tumblr.com/), i don't bite!

They’ve slept together a handful of times after that. Each and every time at Mulder’s place, her on top, half clothed. They go to bed together, to sleep, and each time he wakes up in the morning to find her gone, her side of the bed warm with a fresh departure. 

He tries not to feel disappointed, because the sex is good. More than good. It’s great, even. He just wishes it was more. 

Nothing changes between them. Sure, they kiss more and touch each other a bit more in their day-to-day, but they do the shit they’ve done for the past seven years. 

He supposes he’s glad their work dynamic hasn’t shifted, because she’s the only person he will ever want for a partner. The only person in the FBI who is his equal, and who he can trust.

But he wants… he _wants._ He wants to wake up with her in bed. Wants to take her on dates, and buy her flowers that she’ll let die because of their late nights, wants to spend the night at her place and go down on her in the early morning light. Wants to cook her breakfast and shower with her. He wants to do all of that, and he’s not sure, at all, what it is _she_ wants. 

It’s Saturday night. They’d parted ways yesterday as soon as they finished their day, Friday, and he was desperately hoping she’d call, show up unannounced. Something. 

It’s 6 p.m. He knows this because he’s been checking the clock every 5 minutes, his phone near him in case it rings and it’s her. 

He’s up and in his jacket before he can lose his nerve.

The drive to Georgetown feels like it drags on forever, even though it doesn’t. Just a bit of traffic, and then he’s parked and suddenly in front of her door. He’s about to knock when–

“Mulder?” She’s in the now-open door frame, her eyebrows knit together in that soft way that makes his stomach clench. “Is something wrong? Did we have plans?”

_No,_ his mind sulks, but instead he just says, brightly, “Just thought you’d want some company on this boring Saturday evening.” It even sounds rough and desperate to his own ears and he tries not to cringe outwardly. 

Her lips quirk up so he calls that a victory. She moves aside to let him in and he surveys the place, before turning to look at her. She’s wearing her glasses, on the bridge of her nose, and her hair is in a cute half-up-half-down thing. She has a book sandwiched between her finger. She looks so cute. 

“Have you eaten yet? I can order us a pizza?” She scrunches her nose. “Thai?” Another nose scrunch. “Teriyaki?” That makes her face light up. He heads to the kitchen where he knows she has some restaurant numbers stored. 

He watches her out of the corner of his eye as he grabs her house phone and makes the order. She pushes errant strands of hair behind her ear, the ones that came lose from her little half-pony, and finds a bookmark for her book. He doesn’t get a good look at the title or contents, though, from where he’s standing. It’s probably science-y. 

She sits on the couch, waiting for him, legs crossed. He joins her after he orders their food.

“They said 20 minutes, so I’ll say probably closer to 40,” he jokes and she snorts. 

They sit in companionable silence, Scully offering her half drank glass of wine to him, and leaning back until they’re touching. This makes him think of their second time, but different. Lights on, it’s not dark outside, they’re sharing wine instead of drinking beer. They’re in _her_ apartment. He sure as hell hopes they sleep together tonight, because she can’t run away if it’s at her place. 

He downs the glass of wine and sets it on the table, crowding her space. She smells good. Too good. It’s doing funky things to his brain chemistry. 

She’s looking up at him through her lashes, tip of her tongue coming out to wet her lower lip. And, well, he’s only human. He leans forward, kisses her closed mouthed until her hands bunch in the collar of his shirt to bring him closer.

They maneuver until she’s on her back and he’s in between her now-parted thighs. They fit together so perfectly and if Mulder thinks about that too long, too much, he may start to get weepy. 

She feels so good underneath him, all warm and soft, and her tongue is tracing the seam of his lips until he lets her in and their tongues move together. 

Her hands find their way under his shirt, nails raking against his sides and causing him to shiver. Her hips start to press up, into his where he’s hot and hard and needing to be naked and inside her right now–

There’s a knock on the door. There’s a fucking knock on the door. With a groan he sinks down further on top of her for a second and she giggles in his ear, and that– _that_ is a wondrous noise. Maybe the blue balls are worth it just for that alone. She wiggles. Okay, maybe not.

“I’ll get it,” she says as he allows her up. Her eyes zero in on the very noticeable bulge in his pants. She grabs her wallet and goes through the motions before she closes the door with her hip and comes back to the couch with two giant bags. 

They eat with small talk and wine, and this feels like a date. _Is this a date, Scully?_ he wants to ask, but doesn’t, out of fear of ruining the moment. 

In record time, they polish off their food and shared glasses of wine, and as he’s coming back to the couch after tossing everything away for her–she looks so charmed when he offers–he’s tugged down back on top of her on the couch. With his belly full and his head slightly buzzed with wine, he feels warm and liquid-y all over. 

They’re back where they left off an hour ago, with his hips trapped in between her thighs, her legs tightened behind his back. They kiss and kiss and kiss, and kiss some more, their tongues and lips moving wetly together. 

He moves his lips down to her jaw, her head tipping back to allow him access, and he can feel her pulse jump as he scrapes his canine over it. His fingers slip under her shirt, about to move her bra aside when she pushes him up for a moment so she can take her shirt off and remove her bra with a flick of her hand, tossing it on the ground beneath them. He’s never seen her naked in the light before and she’s–

Exquisite. 

His mouth moves down her clavicle until he’s able to draw a line with his tongue to her left breast, laving the skin before taking a nipple into his mouth. Her hips shoot up and into his as he sucks and bites at her, her fingers tightening and loosening in his hair as she arches. He moves to the other breast, giving it the same amount of attention, until there’s a beautiful crimson flush on her creamy skin. He parts from her breasts to take off his own shirt quickly, before she tugs him up by his hair to kiss him again, and her hands travel. 

Her fingernails scrape along his nipples in retaliation and he hisses in reply, his cock impossibly hard in his pants and pressing against her insistently. She finds her way to the button of his pants, popping it without so much as a struggle, and then her hand is around him.

She strokes him slow but her hold is tight, and it’s delicious. He wants her to feel even the fraction of pleasure he feels, at this moment. He undoes her pants and pushes his hands inside, and more, until, until–

She’s soaked. His fingers dip down, down, until he’s got two inside of her and she lets out a strangled noise, swallowed by his mouth. He so badly wants to taste her, but this is the first time he’s got her under him and he’s not going risk her taking control after her orgasm. 

He pulls her pants down, and then his, replacing her hand on his cock and guiding until he hits home. She’s snug and slick around him and he has to clench his jaw to stop himself, giving her a moment before she gasps, “move!” 

His hips move languidly against hers, more circling than thrusting, making sure his pelvic bone presses against her clit on every movement. They’re still kissing, haven’t separated even for breath. 

“Faster,” she groans between kisses. 

He’s only human. He shifts a little and thrusts once, twice, and she makes a noise. _That_ noise, that lets him know he’s got the right angle and he should keep doing what he’s doing.

Their hips make delicious, obscene noises, and their breaths are ragged and loud and hot in their shared air. Her teeth bite down on his lower lip, which causes him to thrust harder into her and–yeah, she likes that. He does it again, and again, ups the tempo of his movements until he feels the sting of nails on his back and her teeth on his shoulder, her walls tightening and quivering around him.

He comes right after her, huffing her name into the crown of her hair. He shifts down without pulling out of her, resting his head on her breasts. Her fingers comb through his hair, gentle, and he can absolutely fall asleep like this. But he wants her in a bed. 

They stay like that for what feels like an eternity, her heartbeat hammering in his ear. When it reaches something steady, that’s when she says, “I need to pee.” 

He looks up at her face as he gets off of her and she looks sated and sleepy and ravished. He waits until she’s in the bathroom before he grins goofily at himself. He made Scully look like that. He’s sure he probably fares the same way, but _still._ Afterglow Scully is absolutely radiant.

When she comes back from the bathroom (still very much naked), she comes back to the couch, picks up her forgotten clothes, and goes to her bedroom. 

“Are you coming, or are you planning on sleeping on the couch?” Her voice carries down the hall. 

He smirks, picks up his clothes, and turns off all the lights. Once inside her bedroom, he puts his boxers on (he doesn’t want to assume), and sloppily folds his clothes and puts them on the floor beside her bed. 

She’s under the covers already, wearing what looks to be a shirt, wait, that’s–

“Is that shirt mine?” he asks incredulously. 

Her face flushes pink. “Yeah,” she admits. “I like sleeping in it.” 

“I’ve been looking all over for it,” he says, without judgement, but wanting to tease her a little. He gets into the bed beside her and she folds herself beside him. She’s only wearing panties and he wills his body not to respond to this knowledge. He just had an orgasm, for fucks sake. 

She’s looking up at him with sleepy eyes. “Do you want it back?” 

“No,” he chuckles. “You keep it. You look better in it than I do.” 

* * *

He’s been awake for about twenty minutes now, he thinks. Watching her, studying her in the morning light drifting through her window. His erection is pressed against her thigh, which had been tossed over his during the night. She’s draped across his chest. This… he could get used to this. 

The numbers on the clock on the nightstand angrily say 6:07 a.m. Before he loses his nerve, he rolls her onto her back gently. She’s slow to rise, but that’s okay. He holds himself over her, kissing down her neck and over her clothed breasts, until he meets the strip of skin between her (his) shirt and her underwear. He slides the underwear down her legs until they’re caught on her ankle, which she shakes off. Her eyes are still closed, but there’s a small smile on her lips. He makes quick work of his own boxers, not knowing if they’re in the sheets somewhere or on the floor.

He goes between her thighs, opens them, bends to kiss the top of her pubic bone. Her legs open even more, mirroring the width of his shoulders. He can smell her–a heady, earthy scent that he thinks might kill him if he doesn’t get his mouth on her right now. 

He parts her folds with his fingers before licking a stripe from opening to clit, and she shivers. He looks up her body at her, and her eyes are open now, blue turned impossibly dark, and staring at him in a way he’s never seen before. It’s intoxicating. 

He kisses her labia, makes short kitten-licks just to tease and get her wet, before moving down to her opening and dipping his tongue inside. She tastes as good as she smells, as good as she _feels_ , and fuck if he isn’t already drunk on her. He presses his hips into the bed to alleviate some pressure, but it doesn’t help, not when she slinks down the bed a bit and rests her thighs on either side of his face and one of her hands comes to rest in his hair. 

“Keep going,” she breathes out, and who is he to disappoint? 

He pushes his tongue into her again and again, for what feels like hours, until his jaw aches. Her whole body is flush red and her back is arched taut like a bow. The hand that’s not in his hair has drifted underneath her (his) shirt, pinching her own nipple. He feels his spine turn to liquid at the sight. 

He brings his fingers to her opening and pushes them into her, two of them, on exhale, and he swears he hears her whisper his name as he crooks them. He doesn’t show mercy her, moving his fingers quick and licking her clit with the flat of his tongue. He feels, sees, hears the tell-tale sign of her orgasm, so he takes her clit between his lips and sucks, just as he adds a third finger. 

The hand in his hair tightens and it would be painful if he wasn’t so deliriously turned on, and all it does is make him continuously rub his erection into her sheets. He keeps sucking at her clit and fucking her with his fingers until the aftershocks pass, until she basically pushes him away due to over sensitivity. She takes the shirt off and tosses it to the floor and slides down the mattress a little until she can grip him. 

He almost comes then and there, but holds off, wondering what it is she’s going to do. He wouldn’t survive her mouth, that’s for sure, but that’s not what she’s doing. He winds up with his thighs on either side of her ribs, clenching them when she licks the palm of her hand and starts to steadily stroke him, allowing him to fuck her fist. 

They keep their eyes on each other, her tongue coming out to wet dry lips, and then she says, “come on my breasts,” and he’s done for.

Long stripes of clear white paint her flushed skin and he feels–it feels like an ownership. Like he’s staked his claim. He doesn’t get to think about that much more before he drops beside her on his back and catches his breath, turning his head to watch her dip two fingers into the mess on her chest and press them into her mouth, leaving a stain on her lower lip. She leans up to kiss him, their two flavours mixing together and his cock makes a valiant effort to rise again at how utterly _dirty_ and hot that is.

_Sexy Scully_ may be his new favourite, as of now, and that’s his last thought before he drifts back off to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not good at this,” she says and when his mouth opens to disagree, or interject, or whatever he was going to do, she stops him. “No. I mean… I’m not good at this.” She gestures around. “Sharing space, just being . I never have been.” She looks at him sidelong. “It’s been years since I’ve had sex with the same person more than once.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> penultimate part! enjoy! 
> 
> come talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/reginasking) and [tumblr](https://toni-collette.tumblr.com/), i don't bite!

When he wakes again, the bed is empty. The room is bright and warm because of the sun and he looks down at the bed, where there are little stains from their morning tryst. He tries not to smile. He loses that battle and does it anyway, turning onto his side and inhaling the scent from her pillow. 

They spent the night together. Actually spent a whole night together. He was able to wake her up this morning by bringing her to orgasm with his mouth. She allowed him to come on her tits. That… is honestly, legitimately, one-hundred-percent better than any fantasy he’s ever had. The reality is so much better. 

He takes a moment before swinging his legs over the bed and wandering down the hall into the main part of her apartment and surely, she’s there, on the couch, looking adorable with glasses, and reading. She hasn’t seemed to have noticed him yet. 

“Morning,” he says, softly. 

She looks up at him, giving him a small smile. “Good morning, Mulder.” She nudges her chin toward the kitchen. “There are bagels over there if you want any.” 

“No mass this morning?” Mulder asks as he grabs a bagel and bites into it. 

She raises an eyebrow, amused. “She would have wanted to come get me and to go out for breakfast,” she reminds him. “I got the feeling that you wanted to stay in bed a bit longer with me and wake up with me here.” 

Her bluntness caught him off guard and he isn’t able to respond, just looks at her with a bagel half-stuffed in his mouth and eyes wide. Scully herself seems surprised that she said this out loud, as well. 

She takes a deep breath, like she’s steeling herself (or him) for something, amusement fading from her face. She puts a bookmark in her book and takes her glasses off, resting them both on the living room table. She looks like she wants to say something, anything, mouth open a little, but nothing comes. 

He swallows the bagel. “What, Scully?” He’s beginning to get a little nervous now. 

“What–” She pauses for a second, deliberating. He can tell she’s forcing this out whether she herself likes it or not and he wants to kiss her face for being the first one to try. “What are we doing?” 

“We’re having bagels.” She gives him a _look_ and he’s contrite. “Sorry.” He goes to sit beside her on the couch, close enough that he can feel the heat of her but far enough that he doesn’t crowd her or touch her. “I don’t know what we’re doing,” he admits. “Whatever it is, though… I like it.” 

She bites down on her lower lip, worrying it between her teeth, eyebrows knit together in a way that tells him she’s thinking. Too hard, probably, which scares him, but he sits patiently and lets her internal monologue play out. 

“I’m not good at this,” she says and when his mouth opens to disagree, or interject, or whatever he was going to do, she stops him. “No. I mean… I’m not good at _this_.” She gestures around. “Sharing space, just _being_. I never have been.” She looks at him sidelong. “It’s been years since I’ve had sex with the same person more than once.” 

He takes this in. He’s the first since… what was his name? Edward? Ethan? He grits his teeth at the implication of her having one night stands, though, because other than when she was missing, he’s been pretty much a monk.

“Much less had a relationship,” she finishes, and his train of thought halts. “Sharing space is never something I’ve been good at. Communication…” She chuckles, and he laughs quietly, too. “I’ve never been good at it. I’m not a sharer.” 

He lets this sink in, holding a breath and puffing it out when he realizes she’s done. 

“Thank you.” She looks at him, confused. “For telling me,” he says, gently. 

A pink hue flushes her cheeks. She’s embarrassed, and it’s cute, but she turns her face away from him. He gently grabs her chin back to him and looks her in the eye. 

“Don’t do that,” he murmurs, the pad of his thumb softly grazing the skin of her chin. “I’m going to tell you something that I think should be fairly obvious, but I don’t want you to freak out.” She’s silent, looking at him like she’s sort of ready to bolt. He lets go of her chin, but takes one of her hands in both of his. “I’m in love with you.” 

She doesn’t say anything, just averts her eyes to their hands. She doesn’t pull away or anything, despite her evident shock, so he takes that as a good sign. 

“I’ve been in love with you for…” He puffs out a breath, dramatically. “For God knows how long, Scully. Too long. _So long._ ” She licks her bottom lip, clenches her jaw, keeps her eyes down. He keeps going. “I’m not sure what we have. I’m not sure what we’re doing. I’m perfectly okay letting you drive and letting you go at your own pace.” Her hand squeezes his. “But I’m so in love with you.”

They sit in silence, hands clasped, hers tight in both of his. Secure. He doesn’t expect a love confession back. It’s just not what they do, what she does. And that’s okay. But when she looks up at him, water covering clear crystal blue, a look of such _pure_ adoration he feels it like a baseball bat to the gut, he sees all he needs to see. 

She moves just before he does, pressing herself back into the couch so he can lie on her, him between her legs. It’s not sexual, at all, not in any way or form–and this is the type of physical intimacy he never expects from her, but she surprises him every time. He thinks that she may just prefer this to talking, though. But he won’t complain. Not when she’s soft and warm, and her arms tighten around him as he presses his cheek to where he can feel her heartbeat, where an indent of her cross will be stuck on his skin. Her fingers gently run through his hair and he feels complete and utter contentment. 

* * *

Things get smoother from there. For a couple of weeks, they have takeout and have sex, and keep their professional life professional while doing what they do in private. 

He can sense she’s still a bit skittish but she does spend the night, sometimes. Not every night, least of all during the week, but if they’re at his place on a Friday or Saturday, chances are she’ll stay the night. He even has an extra toothbrush for her, and an extra towel set in the bathroom for her hair and it all feels so… domestic. He loves it. 

It’s Saturday night and they’re at his, and she’s just come out from the shower. Her skin is pink and warm and she smells like his body wash and for some reason that always does something to him. He doesn’t know why (yes, he does). 

She’s on top of him, kissing his neck, and her breasts are pressed against him and she’s tilting her hips into his thigh, and–

“I’m going to mass tomorrow,” she tells him. 

He just looks at her, wondering what her point is, and why she stopped him to talk about Church when his erection is poking at her, eagerly wanting attention. 

She continues, “with my mom.” He’s still confused, his erection is still straining, and he’s still wondering what her point is. “She wants to set me up with one of the sons from–” 

His brain is foggy but he’s still able to follow along and he pushes her back gently. “ _What?_ ” Her eyebrows knit together. “You tell me this while I have a boner and you’re on top of me?”

She chuckles, but when she sees he’s not laughing, she wipes the amusement from her face. 

“I’m going to tell her I’m seeing somebody,” she says defensively and, yup, boner killer. Even with her breasts still pressed against him. 

“Or,” he starts, watching as she disentangles herself from him and sits up against the headboard, “you can tell her we’re together.” 

“It’s not like we have a label, Mulder,” she huffs. “My mother won’t understand it.” 

He laughs now, although humourlessly, the mood completely dead. “Maggie isn’t clueless, Scully,” he points out, his voice taking on a bitter edge. “She knows we have something between us.” 

“ _I_ don’t even know what we have between us,” she mutters. 

His head snaps around, looks at her. She’s not facing him, so all he can see is her profile, and she’s looking dead ahead. 

“What?” he snaps at her. “What does that even mean? I thought a few weeks ago we discussed–”

“No, you discussed. I said I wasn’t good at this.” 

“So, what, now you’re deciding to date someone you’re mom is blindly setting you up with, when we’ve done nothing but have sex and spend weekends together for the past month?” 

He doesn’t understand where this came from, this sudden whiplash. One minute, foreplay, now… 

“No,” she says, voice rising in volume. Looks like he might get to see _Angry Scully,_ she hasn’t been around much. “I just said that I’m telling her I’m seeing somebody.” 

“She’s going to figure it out, Scully! We’re not exactly discreet!” His voice is a hiss, not loud by any means, but she still flinches.

Scully turns and gets out of bed, going to his dresser and tugging out clothes (yes, she has a dresser, they’re at _that point_ and this is happening) and putting them on. He just watches her, mouth in a thin line, full of confusion and frustration. 

“Scully,” he says. She doesn’t answer. Just buttons up her jeans. “Scully.” Louder this time, and finally she turns to look at him. “What is going on?” His voice is soft, as soft as he can make it under this amount of aggravation and anxiety and stress. 

She licks her lip. Her tell. His heart thuds unpleasantly. “I–nothing,” she says, and almost looks defeated. “I’m sorry. I don’t…” She swallows hard and, oh, God, please don’t let her cry. She doesn’t do it that often, _he_ cries more, and he hates it anytime she does. He’s up and bringing her into a hug before he can even think about it, kissing the crown of her hair. She hugs him back, thank God, pretty much just melts into him.

“What’s going on?” he asks again, gently. 

“I don’t know,” she admits. “I don’t know. I didn’t know how to tell you about my mom’s plan, I didn’t know how you’d react, I didn’t…” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “I just got hit with this sudden wave of emotion, and doubt, and fear.” 

He’s almost afraid to ask, but he does. “Fear and doubt over what?”

“This,” she whispers. “Us. I’m afraid to change.” 

He chuckles and she glares up at him, chin resting on his chest. She looks adorable. “I’m not laughing at you,” he promises. “It’s just that… we’re fucking. Regularly. We’re… Scully, we’re in a _relationship._ Romantically, sexually. I think that’s a cause for a change.” 

She closes her eyes, fingers wrapping around the shirt on his back and wringing it nervously. “Aren’t you afraid?” When he doesn’t answer, she opens her eyes. He waits expectantly. “Aren’t you afraid of the whispers, and them splitting us up?” 

“They won’t,” he says, confidently. “Besides, everyone thinks we’ve been screwing since ‘96.” 

She rolls her eyes, and he knows she doesn’t believe him but he’s heard the gossip, the whispers. He knows for an actual fact no one would be surprised at anything except how long they waited. 

He wants to point this out but knows this’ll just cause a mess. “We’re professional on the job, Scully,” he reminds her instead. 

“I’m afraid of my mother’s judgment,” she says, finally, voice small. “Of my brother’s.” _Of God’s,_ she might be thinking, but doesn’t say, and Mulder just bobs his head. He thinks about cracking a joke about marriage but he doesn’t want to die yet.

“Since when?” he asks, gently, kissing her forehead. 

“Since I’ve never felt this way about another person,” she says, so quietly, and it’s so brutally honest and open and sincere that Mulder feels his eyes swamp and has to swallow his emotion down as to not scare her. 

He doesn’t know how to respond, afraid to respond because he’s afraid he might _cry_ , so he just hugs her tighter and allows her to calm down in his arms. They stand there, in the middle of his bedroom, and sway, for countless minutes until, “let’s go to bed.” 

She strips off her clothes, leaving them in a heap, and jumps him. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, what, you’re just going to leave?” he asks, arms crossed as he watches her put on her jacket. 
> 
> “Yeah, I am,” she says flatly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is, the end! hope you enjoyed! i may or may not be working on a sequel, so stay tuned. ;)
> 
> come talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/reginasking) and [tumblr](https://toni-collette.tumblr.com/)!

He gives her a bit of space. She leaves for mass Sunday morning, giving him a kiss to his mouth and a smile that still makes his heart flip. She calls him later that afternoon, telling him she’s told her mother… something, and he doesn’t pry. She’ll tell her at his own pace, he tells himself. 

Work goes by. They have a case that lands Mulder in the hospital with stitches on the side of his face and Scully does what she always does when he gets injured, she glares at him. But it’s not the type of glare that makes him fear for his life (though, he probably should), it’s a cute glare that makes him want to kiss away the worry.

“I’m fine,” Mulder says, batting her hand away as she checks him over before handing him his change of clothes. He’s being discharged, about four hours later than he would like. “Can we pick up Thai on the way home?” He momentarily freezes as he calls her apartment  _ home, _ and if she notices she doesn’t let on. 

She scrunches her nose but concedes. As they turn a corner, they hear, “Ms. Scully!” 

It’s a man. A random man. An old-ish random man. Mulder has no idea who he is. Scully raises her eyebrows, looks at Mulder a second, before she looks at the man. 

“Doctor Richards,” she greets. “We’re just on our way out.” There’s an edge to her voice and she gives the man a look Mulder can’t quite decipher.

The man looks at Scully, then looks at Mulder, and then nods. “Thought I’d try to catch you but it seems like a bad time,” he says, professionally. “Call my office this week.” And then he walks away.

Odd, Mulder can’t help but think. He looks down at Scully and she smiles at him. “He’s my physician, and I knew him in med school,” she explains. “I have yearly check-ups and I’ve just forgotten to make my appointment.” 

Mulder nods. “Okay, so, Thai?”

“Yes, Mulder, we’ll get you Thai.” 

He smiles, happily, a little dopey, and he doesn’t blame it on the drugs but instead on the fact that as they were walking to her car, she put her hand in his. 

The trip to the Thai place and then back to Georgetown isn’t that long, but he does gain a headache during the trip. She gives him some Aspirin and he dry swallows it, cringing. He hates doing that.

“Sorry, I drank the water bottle from the car,” she says. 

“It’s okay,” he says, headache starting to dissipate. 

They get into her apartment and sit down on the couch with their food. Scully takes a couple of bites before she frowns, excuses herself, and heads into the bathroom. He doesn’t follow her but he does look on after her, curiously. 

She comes back a few minutes later, hair in a ponytail and in one of his shirts. She must have gotten changed. 

“Sorry,” she says, voice raspy. “I don’t feel good. The Thai was not welcome.” 

He’s done eating now, so when she comes to the couch she plops down on him, seeking skin-to-skin contact by sneaking her hands under his shirt. 

_ Poor baby, _ he thinks, looking down at his girl. She’s so small and warm, and her eyes close tight. He can stay like this all night. 

She sits up and peers at him, studying his stitches, looking like she wants to say something but not quite knowing what. So instead she reaches up and cradles the side of his face, her fingers brushing the skin around the stitches. 

“You scare me every time you get hurt,” she mutters. 

“My G-Woman wasn’t there to kick their asses for me,” he jokes, and it works. She laughs, a belly laugh, because it’s always been a joke between them that she was a better hand-to-hand fighter. And a better shot, as his shoulder reminds him every so often. 

“I hate when you get hurt.” 

He nods agreeably. “I’m not so fond of it, either.” 

She sighs, the type of sigh where she wants to say something more, but doesn’t. She closes her eyes again, rests against him, snuggles deeper. He doesn’t mind this, actually, and if this happens every time he gets hurt he may be more obligated to be in the E.R. 

* * *

It’s a Friday night. His face is healed, stitches are out and he is feeling good. Mulder and Scully are on his couch, dinner on the counter forgotten. 

Her shirt is pushed up to her armpits, his mouth on her breast, pulling and sucking a nipple into his mouth. Her back arches into him, her nails scratching the skin at the base of his neck in a way that gives him delicious shivers. She presses down onto his erection, a moan bubbling out from his throat. 

She boldly grabs his hand and brings it underneath her skirt, the one she wore to work today. She’s wearing nylons, of  _ course  _ she is. He growls when he finds her sticky and wet, taking his hand out from under her skirt so that he can–

Wait. 

“Scully,” he mumbles. 

She’s not paying attention to him, she’s doing some naughty things with her tongue and his neck. He pulls back, making her frown.

“Mulder, what?”

He holds his fingers up, shows them to her. They’re red, not dripping, but stained.

“What a way to ruin a party,” he jokes, but her face falls. She’s up and off of him in seconds, running to the bathroom quickly. 

He’s left on the couch with his pants undone and bloody fingers, looking after her. She’s a doctor. Why would period blood make her squeamish? Is it a girl thing? He gets up and washes his fingers in the sink of the kitchen, watching as the blood circles the drain before clearing. He walks to the bathroom, knocks once. Twice. 

She doesn’t answer, and he starts to get worried. 

“Scully?” He knocks again. And then tries the door handle. It’s not locked. He opens the door and peeks in. She’s inspecting the blood on her underwear and when she notices he’s come in, she looks up at him. She looks… he has no idea how she looks. Can’t describe it. A mixture of guilty, worried and relieved, somehow all at once. “What–” 

“Mulder,” she says gently. “It’s not my period.” 

His eyebrows knit together. “What?” 

“It’s not my period.” She brushes by him, into his bedroom, where her overnight bag is. He follows her, watches her change into another pair of underwear. She digs inside her bag and finds a pantyliner. Moments later, she’s digging until she finds a folder. 

“What’s that?” he asks, his body going cold. This… it  _ can’t _ be back, right? “Scully…” 

She must know where his mind is at because her hands are immediately on his face, cupping his cheek. “No, Mulder,  _ no. _ It’s not cancer. It’s not.” 

He breathes out a sigh of relief, the tension still not quite leaving his body. His forehead touches hers, his eyes squeezed shut as he pushes everything back down. The file pokes into his stomach.

“Just tell me,” he whispers. 

She swallows, hard, backing up from him. “I’m pregnant.” 

He balks, unsure if he heard her correctly. “You said… you said you’re–”

“–pregnant,” she finishes. 

“How far along?” he asks, taking the file from her. 

She nibbles on her lower lip. “I’m a bit over half way through my first trimester. About seven weeks.”

He remembers something, brow furrowing, frowning. “When that doctor–” 

“Yes,” she answers. 

“You’ve known since then?” 

“Yes.”

“And when you kept getting sick–”

“I’ve known since that fight we had three weekends ago,” she tells him. “I figured it out the day before, when I realized I was pretty damn late for my period. I went to a doctor and had some blood work done, just to make sure it was nothing…” The cancer, he knows, she doesn’t need to say it. “And he told me I was pregnant.”

He just stares at her, tossing the file onto her bag. “And you didn’t think to tell me?” His voice sounded weird to his own ears, but…  _ really _ ? What the fuck was wrong with her? 

“Mulder,” she says gently, taking a step forward. He takes a step back and his heart plummets when he watches her face fall, but not enough to apologize or take a step forward. She licks her lips and sniffs in that way she does when she’s upset. “I never thought this could happen.” She pauses and he gives her a look, waiting for her to continue. “I wanted to be sure before I told you. I wanted to be past the first trimester.” 

His jaw clenches and he can feel the anger unfurling. “You still should have told me, Scully,” he says, a bit louder than intended if her jolting was anything to go by. “You never tell me anything. You never share anything with me, even when it directly involves me.  _ Especially _ when it directly involves me! It’s been like that since we started sleeping together, so why should it stop now that you’re pregnant? Would you have even told me if I didn’t find out right now? Or would you have waited until you’re on the delivery room table?” It was a low blow, he knows this, but God. Fuck. He’s so angry. 

Her eyes tear up almost as the words are out of his mouth and he has to bite on his tongue and clench his fists to keep from going to her and hugging her and lying to her, saying he’s not mad, when he  _ is. _

She swallows again, thickly, taking a deep breath, and then another. She bends down to pick up the file and puts it in her bag, and slings it over her shoulder. When she passes him, he can see that her eyelashes are wet. 

“So, what, you’re just going to leave?” he asks, arms crossed as he watches her put on her jacket. 

“Yeah, I am,” she says flatly. 

“Are you going to tell me where you’re going or will I find that out later too?” 

She whips around to stare at him, eyes dry, full of venom. “I did what I did to protect myself. I’m sorry if that hurts your feelings, but I didn’t feel like getting attached to a pregnancy that may not even stick! I’m the one who has to carry it, I’m the one who’d have to physically feel the fucking loss,” she yelled back at him, that classic Scully temper flaring. 

He feels guilty now. Allows it to wash over him and take him captive, trying to make sure that the anger is completely drained from his body, as he watches her try to reign in her emotions. She goes for the door but he stops her. “Wait, Scully,” he pleads, voice soft. “Wait.” 

Her hand is on the handle but she turns to look at him anyway, expectantly. He sees the telltale wobble of her chin, the twitching of her nose.

So many emotions are going through him right now, but mostly he’s angry at himself for using his pent-up frustration with her to get mad at her about  _ this. _ “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have said any of what I just said to you.” 

He watches her take a couple deep breaths, trying to calm herself, but the dam breaks and her bag drops, and she presses herself against the wall, slides down onto her haunches. She covers her face with her hands, a classic Scully move when she cries. One he loves about her. One he hates, too. 

“Baby,” he says gently. He goes down on his knees in front of her and her shoulders are shaking, and fuck, he just made his pregnant girlfriend cry, huh? “Scully, honey, I’m sorry.” 

Before he knows it, he’s got an armful of her, knocking him back onto his butt as she all but crawls into his lap. He holds her then, on the floor in front of his apartment door, as she cries. He runs a soothing hand down her back, feeling the ridges in her spine. He hums as he rocks them back and forth and waits for everything to subside. 

“Are you humming Hey, Jude?” she asks, incredulously, voice nasally.

“It worked, didn’t it?” 

After a couple of moments she stills, stiffens, but doesn’t crawl off of him. His hand keeps making trails up and down her back, now under her shirt. He thinks that’s the only reason she hasn’t pulled away. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, gently, genuine. 

“I am too,” she mutters. “I–” She takes a deep breath, clears her throat. “I told you I’m no good with this relationship stuff. And I’m not. And I’m sorry for that. I should have told you and I was going to but every time I thought of it, I thought about how painful it would be… to make it real by telling you, by preparing, just to have it taken away.” 

He nods, understanding. “It’s okay,” he whispers. He pets her hair. 

When he opens his mouth to say something else, she stops him, finger on his lips. She pulls back enough to look him in the face. “I’ve been  _ trying, _ ” he tells him. “To open up to you more. To allow myself… you. I thought, you know, that you’d leave. Or that you’d want someone else, eventually, who could have kids.” His heart drops into his stomach. “I love you so much and when I said I was afraid of judgment from everyone, I’ve been afraid of letting myself just… love you.” 

He lets what he’s heard sink in, not knowing what part to address first. 

“I know I’m not an easy person to love, or to be in a relationship with,” she continues, “but I…  _ we _ have a baby coming. I can’t think about myself and guarding my feelings anymore, when we have a child.” 

“Scully,” he whispers. “Loving you has literally been the easiest thing I’ve ever done.” She scoffs, looks away, embarrassed. “No, really. It happened so easily, so quickly. Like drinking water. It just happens, naturally, all the time. Every day.” 

She licks her lips, and shit, she’s crying again. 

“Mulder,” she mutters, hiding her face in his chest, since her hands are too busy being wrapped around his shoulders. He feels his shirt getting wet but he pays it no mind. 

“I don’t want you to change,” he tells her, honestly. “I don’t. I just wish you’d talk to me more. I’m comfortable going at your pace, because that’s what makes you who you are. And I get it. I understand it. What I said… I was too afraid to ask you about anything, or to tell you myself how I was feeling. It takes two to communicate, and neither of us are the best at it.” 

“Understatement,” she says under her breath and he laughs at that, and so does she. “Can we get up off the floor and go to bed, now?”

_ God, yes. _

He heaves her up, leaving her overnight bag on the floor. They both strip down and crawl under the covers. He’s wrapped around her back, his hand splayed out on her stomach protectively. He breathes her in, nose buried in her neck. 

“Can I come to your next doctor's appointment?” 

“Yes,” she answers automatically. She twists in his arms to look over her shoulder at him. “Of course.” Her face is soft, open. “I was going to tell you as soon as I felt like I was in the clear. I’m still spotting, and that still makes me nervous. I just wanted to be sure.”

“I understand,” he says, patiently, soothingly. “Like you said, we’re going to have a baby. We need to be more open with each other if this is going to work out, Scully.” 

She turns away from him, burrows deeper into his embrace. “I know,” she says. “I know. I just ask that you be patient, and please… don’t stop yourself from talking to me. I’m sorry I ever made you–”

“Shh,” he says into her hair. “It’s okay. I know.” And he does. He knows her so well, he almost doesn’t understand how he ever thought he didn’t. 

They lay in silence for a few minutes, the only thing that can be heard is their breathing, until, “Scully?” 

“Yes, Mulder?”

“We’re having a baby.”

He can almost hear her smile, can visualize it with his eyes closed, and it’s beautiful. “Yes, we are.”


End file.
